A Light in the Dark
by Sophia Hawkins
Summary: Set after "Start Digging" and "The Silos". Olivia Benson comes to Chicago to see Hank Voight after Justin's murder.
1. Chapter 1

A Light in the Dark

Olivia Benson pulled up to the curb and put her rented car in 'park' and got out. It was already pitch dark out, she had hoped to get here earlier but her flight was delayed. The house was dark, quiet, something she learned not to take as a good sign. She ran up to the door and found it locked, and she knocked.

"Hank," she called, "It's me." She banged on the door again, "Hank, I know you're in there, open up." Nothing.

"Hank!" Olivia said to the door again, "If you don't open this door, I'm coming in. I've got Erin's key."

Fair warning for a man who'd answer any suspicious knock with a shotgun under regular circumstances, she wasn't even sure what was going to happen once she entered the house, but nothing was going to hold her back. She took the key from her pocket, turned the bolt in the lock and slowly pushed it open.

"Voight, I'm coming in," she announced as she looked on into the pitch blackness of the house's inside.

She hadn't been to Voight's house often enough to know where anything was, she held her arms in front of her cautiously to feel around and make her way from room to room.

"Hank?" she called out as she found the threshold to the dining room, "Are you here?"

Silence. She felt for the wall and tried to find the light switch. It took a few tries but she finally felt the switch cover on the wall. She flicked the switch but nothing happened, so she flicked it back the other way, still nothing.

"Hank?"

She would swear she could sense the sergeant's presence, but she still couldn't hear anything. Then finally, from somewhere else in the house, the kitchen she realized, a voice suddenly answered, albeit somewhat muffled, "Come on in, Olivia."

"Hank," Olivia called as she felt her way around the table and chairs, "Where are you?"

There was no response. After a few seconds he said to her, "You're wondering why it's so dark in here."

"Yes," Olivia said as she followed the sound of his voice. As she passed through the dining room, she stepped on something and felt small pieces of something crunch under her shoes.

"The lights had an unfortunate accident," he told her, trying to sound dismissive about it.

She looked around the darkened kitchen, trying to pinpoint his location. "Where are you?"

For an answer, the refrigerator door opened, the only light in the house he hadn't felt a need to dismantle, and she saw him standing by the side of it. Before the door closed she walked over towards the sergeant and threw her arms around him.

"I should've come out here sooner," she said, "I'm so sorry about Justin."

Voight merely grunted something in response before telling her, "I wouldn't have wanted you out here anyway."

Olivia breathed in the strong scent of whiskey, she could guess _why_ he hadn't wanted her to come.

"I went to the 21, Erin told me you'd left early and nobody had been able to get a hold of you," she said.

Hank just grunted a small 'mm-hmm', before pulling away from her.

"Hank…"

She could feel him moving further away from her.

"I'm sorry you made the trip for nothing, Olivia," he said, "But the truth is I don't really want you here now either."

She heard the sound of glass clink and years of living with her mother told her he was helping himself to another drink. She wondered if he'd smashed the lights before or after he started drinking.

"Hank," she said as she took a step closer towards him in the dark.

But Voight was adamant, she could sense him shaking his head as he told her, "Just leave, Olivia."

But she stood her ground, and responded firmly, "No."

"What?" Voight sounded surprised.

"If you want me to leave," she told him, "You're going to have to throw me out."

There was a slight pause before he responded, "Don't think I won't."

"Don't talk to me like I'm one of your perps, Voight," Olivia told him, "Or even like I'm one of your own men. _I'm_ not afraid of you."

Almost without missing a beat, Voight replied, "You should be."

"No," Olivia shook her head as she moved towards him, "I know after 17 years in SVU who I should be afraid of…it's not you, Hank." Though she couldn't see him, she instinctively knew she was facing him now, "That's not who you are."

He sniped at her, "You don't know who I am."

"That's not true," she returned, "That concerned father when we were undercover to find Erin's brother, Teddy, that wasn't an act, Hank, that's the man you are, not this hardass exterior you always show the world."

Voight's only response was an unconvinced grunt.

"Camille wouldn't have married you if that were true," Olivia told him.

There was a silence that hung in the air, the tension was as thick as smog.

The seconds felt like an eternity, before finally Voight remarked with, "That was a long time ago, things were different."

"No," Olivia said in a half whisper as she took another step towards him, "Maybe the way you reacted to situations changed over the years, but you're still the same man now you were then, Hank."

She couldn't see him, but she could feel him turning his head to look at her and he told her, "Don't talk to me like _I'm_ the perp. I know how that works."

"That's what you think I'm doing?" Olivia asked.

"I know it," Voight said, "Keep 'em talking, make them think you understand them, you're on their side, _then_ ambush them."

"Really?" Olivia opened her jacket, even though she couldn't see him, somehow she wasn't entirely convinced he couldn't see her in the dark, "You want to search me? I came without a gun."

"That was damn stupid," Voight told her.

"I told you," she said, "I'm not afraid of you."

"I don't want you here," he said to her.

"Then throw me out," Olivia challenged him.

She stood her ground and waited, but nothing happened, just as she knew it wouldn't.

"I'm not leaving, Hank," she said, calmly.

Silence again. Olivia thought she'd be able to stand the silence if she could just _see_ Voight.

She heard a quick scraping sound, followed by a sizzle and hiss, and a small flame eliminated the darkness between them as Voight held a match in his hand.

"If you're going to stay," Voight said to her, "You might as well have a drink."

* * *

"I suppose Erin told you everything," he said when they finally left the kitchen and relocated to the living room. By some luck, there was one light in the room that Voight hadn't smashed in a rage, he turned it on and Olivia was able to really see the Chicago cop for the first time since she'd last visited. To say he looked horrible was an understatement, he looked two steps away from being a zombie. He was still functioning, but barely, no wonder he hadn't stuck around at the station house.

"I don't know," Olivia said as she walked over towards him, "I don't know what all there is to the story."

"Olive left," Voight told her, "She took my grandson, the _only_ blood relative I have left in this world, the _only_ part of Justin I have left, and moved to Arizona."

Olivia looked like somebody had just punched her in the stomach, "Oh, Hank."

"She said she couldn't stay here anymore," he continued, and looked about the room, "Too many memories."

"Hank, I am so sorry," she said.

"Justin had a twin," Voight said as he sat down on the couch, "The girl didn't make it. Then Camille got cancer, then Camille died, now Justin was murdered, and now I've lost my grandson. Erin's all I've got left now."

"Hank," Olivia said quietly as she sat down beside him on the couch.

Voight almost looked to be in shock, or a daze, his eyes didn't really focus on anything as he said, "In a way I should be relieved, I don't have anymore family to be at risk from the criminals I go after."

"Voight, don't talk like that," Olivia told him.

"It's true," he said, not sounding quite all there, "All the times that Justin's life was in danger because of my work, his being a Voight," he shook his head, "Now I don't have to wonder, now I _know_."

"Hank…"

He looked at her, and what she saw shocked her. In all the times she'd joined forces with Voight in catching killers hopping from one jurisdiction to another, Voight was always a brick wall, nothing could ever really get to him, and if it did he compensated by beating the hell out of perps in the most disgustingly creative ways possible. Now, she saw his eyes glazed over with tears that hadn't fallen yet, but would and soon.

"He was my son, Olivia," his voice was starting to break now as well, "He was my little boy…"

And the brick wall crumbled.

Olivia saw one tear work its way loose from the rest and fall, not trickle, but drop straight down his face, a second before he doubled over as a series of body wracking sobs took him over. Olivia leaned forward and cautiously put one hand on his shoulder, then wrapped her arm around his back and pulled him towards her.

"Hank," she got out in a quiet voice, almost a whisper.

Voight didn't fight the solace offered but he didn't ease into it either, Olivia had to lift Voight's head up from his chest and rest it on her shoulder as she tightened her embrace on him. She was mildly surprised when she felt him grab hold of her in return.

"All he did was try to help someone, and they killed him," Voight managed to get out before another series of sobs choked him.

Olivia bit her lower lip and looked up towards the ceiling as she continued to hold him in her arms and wait out the emotional storm. There were no words she could say. Justin was dead, life as Voight knew it was never going to be the same, there was no way she could fix this, all she could do was be there for him now when he needed someone the most, even if he couldn't admit it.

Voight sucked in a breath long enough to get out a heart wrenching, "My baby boy's gone."

Olivia closed her eyes and felt her heart shatter.

* * *

Olivia opened her eyes, everything was dark. She was not aware in the moment of anything except that she was laying down, and she was crying. She felt no actual emotional connection to the tears that were still streaming down her face, but they continued to fall at full force. Raising a hand, Olivia used her thumb to wipe away the most recent ones.

She shouldn't have drunk so much. Especially given her own background she should've known better, but Voight had already been drinking for who knew how long, she couldn't see any point in only one of them being sober, so she'd helped him kill another bottle of whiskey. She hadn't drunk enough to actually get drunk, but she drank enough that she felt lousy, and she would in the morning too, and she knew it.

There was a weight on her chest. Not a figurative weight stemming from the emotional turmoil of what was going on, an actual and literal weight pressing on her chest. She moved her hand to feel what it was and it surprised her but not by much. It was Voight's head. She became aware of his weight pressing on the rest of her body, the sergeant was either asleep or had finally passed out, and was using her as a pillow. At least he'd calmed down for the time being, but Olivia wondered how long that would actually last. She reached her hand to the back of Voight's head and lightly stroked it while he slept.

Even in sleep there was no escape from the memories, Voight breathed noisily as he moved in his sleep, and a small half sob escaped from his throat.

Olivia realized something else and wasn't sure what to make of it. They weren't still on the couch in the living room, they were in Voight's bed in his room up on the second floor. How had they even gotten upstairs? She couldn't remember. She didn't remember anything after the two of them on the couch. Something else occurred to her, and even as she thought it she realized she should've known better, but she felt along the parts of her body that Voight wasn't crushing in his sleep, and was relieved to feel the clothes that she'd had on earlier.

It wouldn't have been the first time that grief brought two people together and drove them to bed. In fact, as a cop and having her fair share of traumatic experiences and losses, Olivia knew personally that it wasn't a rare occurrence at all. Sometimes you were so desperate to escape the pain and the neverending memories that you picked up any stranger in a bar simply so you wouldn't be alone for the night. It never helped, but that never stopped anybody from doing it either.

Voight wasn't a large man by any means, but he was still too heavy for Olivia to get up without trying to push him off of her. She used her foot to nudge the covers down at the other end of the bed and snag the top sheet and bedspread. Then she wriggled one arm down as far as she could reach around Voight and pulled the covers up on both of them. Voight made a few small grumbling sounds in his sleep, then he turned on his side and sharply elbowed Olivia in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her for a second.

And then sometimes, Olivia remembered, it paid to sleep alone, there was a lot less bruising that way.

Hank murmured something in his sleep that Olivia couldn't understand, but she could guess because the next thing she could hear was that Voight was crying in his sleep. She wrapped one hand behind his head and calmly stroked it, holding her breath and keeping her thoughts to herself for a moment. Quietly, knowing that he couldn't hear her, she looked up in the darkness towards the ceiling and said calmly, "I love you, Hank."

* * *

The next thing Olivia knew, it was morning. The room was still fairly dark though she could see light starting to creep in through the blinds. Her head was in a fog and it took her a moment to remember where she was and what was happening. Voight had finally rolled over to the other side of the bed sometime during the night, but even now he wasn't sleeping peacefully. He twitched in his sleep and flipped and flopped one way and the other, grumbling incoherently the whole time. Olivia reached over and shook his shoulder to try and wake him up.

"Hank," she said as she tried to get his attention, and when it didn't work she tried harder, "Hank!"

Something finally clicked, Voight shot up in the bed with a start and a yell, Olivia inched back in surprise, then the next thing she knew she was pinned down to the mattress, once again Voight was on top of her, this time though, he kissed her. Everything happened so fast that it took Olivia a minute to even process what was happening, even when she did she was still in shock. She didn't push back or try to struggle, but she didn't lean into it or reciprocate either. She froze under his weight as she felt his whole body press against her. Except it slowly dawned on her that there was one part that wasn't, when she figured that out she felt her eyes widen in realization.

And then, as suddenly and randomly as it happened, Voight stopped and pulled back and looked down at her, as if he was just realizing what he'd done.

"I'm sorry," he said as he moved off of her. That was all he said, it was obvious he didn't have any idea where to go from there.

Olivia sat up and looked at him and responded, "It's alright."

Voight scooted back on his heels and said again, "I'm sorry, Olivia."

"It's alright, Hank," Olivia tried to assure him.

He looked at her and said only, "I think you better leave."

Maybe she should've seen it coming, but she didn't. "What?"

Voight got up from the bed and told her, "I'm sorry you made the trip out here for nothing, but I don't want you around. Leave…don't make me throw you out."

Olivia wasn't sure how to respond to that. After the initial shock wore off, and she could see that Voight wasn't going to change his mind, she slowly nodded and got up from the bed.

"Okay," she said calmly, as she often did when dealing with perps or families of victims, "Okay, I will."

Olivia tried one final time to go to Hank and touch him, but even with his back to her he anticipated it and moved away before she could get a hand on him.

"Goodbye, Hank," she said sorrowfully, in defeat.

Hank wouldn't turn around to face her, so she left the bedroom. Hank heard the echo of her footsteps going down the stairs, then heard the front door open and close, and then there was silence, and he was alone again, just the way he wanted it.

* * *

Half an hour after Olivia had gone, Voight's phone rang. It was Antonio, and the news was bad. He'd been in the area when a call came in about a car chase following a shooting. Olivia had been involved in the chase, and the crash that followed, her car was totaled and she was being transported to Chicago Med. Hank reached the scene of the accident in record time, a wonder he didn't become a casualty himself. When he arrived on the scene it was pandemonium, there was a semi with a smashed up front, pulverized remains of another car a few yards away from where it skidded to a stop, and several cars with varying amounts of damage to them scattered all over the road. Two ambulances were loading up, another one was treating people out of the back.

"What the hell happened?" he asked Antonio. He looked around at all the chaos, and he realized they were too far away from the airport for this to make any sense. Olivia should've already been waiting to board her flight by now.

Antonio walked him through it the best he could, "From what I understand, she was on her way to the airport when she witnessed a drive-by shooting. She called it in, and followed the car so we'd be able to catch them. During the chase the gunman started shooting at her, so she hit the gas and rammed them. They couldn't get away so they tried turning the car around to run her off the road, and when they did that, they got hit by a truck coming through that couldn't stop in time. The driver of the truck started to swerve out of the way, which is why most of the car's still in one piece. Olivia swerved to get out of the way of the wreck, knocked into a couple other cars in the process, lost control of the car, it rolled over and finally stopped when it hit a gate. Paramedics got her out and already took her to Chicago Med."

"What's her condition?" Hank asked.

Antonio shrugged, "I don't know."

"Is she going to make it?" Hank asked.

Antonio shrugged again. "The drive-by victim was also rushed to Med. Not looking good. A 19 year old kid, no known gang affiliation, could just be wrong place, wrong time, hell of a reason to get killed."

"There's never a good reason," Hank replied, then inquired, "What about the other people involved in the wreck?"

"So far looks like minor injuries, except for the shooter and the driver."

Voight grumbled as he looked back at the wreck, "Dead on impact?"

"Not yet," Antonio replied, "They'll be next to Med."

Voight got back in his car and went to Chicago Med, by the time he got there to inquire about Olivia, he was able to get almost a full report from Maggie; she'd been severely banged up in the crash, was currently unconscious, under observation, and had already been assigned a room, not one in ICU, for which he was thankful.

Hospitals, he hated these things with a passion, all bad things came out of hospitals. Camille had died in one, the plug had been pulled on Justin in one. More people came to hospitals to die than to live it seemed. He just prayed that that wouldn't be the case with Olivia as well.

There wasn't anyone else in the room, just Olivia in the hospital bed, her clothes replaced with a paper gown, hooked up to…he couldn't even focus on what all they had her hooked up to to monitor everything. At the moment all he could focus on was her face. Half of it was blue and black from the car accident; she had a few cuts below her hairline, one set of stitches over her left eye. As bad as it looked, it looked lucky that she didn't go flying through the windshield when the car rolled.

"Were you this desperate to get me to leave the house?" he asked her in a moment of dark humor.

No response from the woman laying in the bed, only the continuous beeps from the various machines. Voight reached for her hand that didn't have an IV needle in it, all her fingernails were broken off and jagged in places, her hand was wrapped up in layers of gauze like they were trying to keep her from bleeding out.

"Why did you do it, Olivia?" he asked her, knowing she wouldn't answer. Her previous words came back to haunt him, "You came out here unarmed, why the hell did you chase them? What did you think you were going to do if you caught them?"

You could take the cop out of their jurisdiction, but…didn't matter where you were, a cop is a cop is a cop, and a cop who witnesses a crime will never stand by and just let the local patrol get it. Not if they actually deserved to wear that shield. He couldn't, that's what had started the tension between them when he went to New York and first met Olivia. Her house, her rules, his house, his rules, it was a dance they perfected early on in their working relationship.

Voight grabbed the blanket that was covering Olivia and pulled it down to the foot of the bed. Her legs were covered in red and purple bruises from her knees down to her ankles, her thighs sticking out from the gown were the only things that appeared unscathed. He brought the blanket back up and tucked it around her carefully.

Hank lightly squeezed Olivia's hand and told her, "I know you came out here to try and help me. I appreciate it." He paused and grew even more somber as he added, "I shouldn't have told you to leave. I'm sorry."

Nothing. Just the steady continual beeps from the monitors.

* * *

"Hank?"

Voight opened his eyes and realized he'd fallen asleep. His neck was stiff from being craned to the side for he didn't know how long. It was to much disappointment he realized the woman calling him wasn't Olivia in the bed next to him, but Sharon, standing in the doorway. He turned his head and looked at Olivia who still lay unconscious in the bed, she hadn't moved at all.

"I heard you'd graced this hospital with your presence," Sharon said as she stepped into the room, "Almost thought they'd said the wrong room. This doesn't look like the perps you beat up on."

"What's the report, Sharon?" Hank decided to cut to the chase, he knew there was a reason why she'd come.

"Friend of yours?" she asked, "On one hand, it seems she got lucky. Multiple contusions but nothing broken, had to have a few stitches but other than that…"

"Don't sugarcoat it, Sharon, what's the other hand?" Voight wanted to know.

She looked at him and bluntly answered, "She hasn't regained consciousness since the accident, so far she's not responding to stimuli of any sort. We're going to keep an eye on her for any possible brain swelling or seizures or stroke…"

" _Is_ she going to come out of it?" Voight demanded to know.

"I don't know, Hank," she answered simply after a brief pause, "You know we'll do everything we can for her."

"Do it," he said, as if it were that simple.

"We'll let you know when there's any update," Sharon told him.

Voight's eyes met hers and he stated simply and matter-of-factly, "I'm staying."

It shouldn't have been surprising. Only missing a beat, Sharon responded, "Alright. The doctor will be in in a minute to check on her."

"What happened to the drive-by victim that was brought in?" Voight asked.

Sharon shook her head and said softly, "There wasn't anything they could do."

"Uh huh," Voight didn't sound too convinced, but moved onto another subject, "And the other two?"

"They were brought in," she said.

"Going to make it?" Voight asked.

"I know a lot of people are walking away these days from being hit by a semi," Sharon told him, "But these two could go either way. Either they'll answer to you when they get released, or God can handle them soon enough."

"Mm-hmm," Voight grumbled dismissively.

Sharon looked at him looking at Olivia, she could tell he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. "Can I get you something?"

Voight ever so slightly shook his head, his eyes never took focus off of Olivia. Sharon wordlessly nodded and left the room.

Hank took Olivia's hand in his own and covered hers with his other and he said quietly to her, "The doctor's going to come in here and see how you're doing…I'm going to step out for a minute, but I'll be right back. Okay?" By now he was getting used to no answer. "Okay."


	2. Chapter 2

Voight heard the alarm of the patients down the hall coding. He heard the hustle of the doctors and nurses rushing to the room shared by the gunman and the driver. By this time the doctor was through examining Olivia and had left. Hank sat back down beside her bed and told her, "I don't know about you, but I feel better now."

"Hank!" Sharon came charging into the hospital room, "Where were you two minutes ago?"

"John," he answered, "What happened?"

She glared at him and answered, "Somehow the oxygen tubes got cut for those two brought in from the crash."

"How odd," Voight answered nonchalantly, "Must've been an imperfection in the manufacturing."

"Hank," Sharon walked over to him, "I know how hard this is for you but…"

"They could've gone either way," Voight repeated, "And what kind of person is sadistic enough to walk into a hospital room and cut the oxygen tubing? They _went_ the other way, simple as that."

"Hank, I am not going to cover for you on this, I can't," Sharon told him.

"Never said you did," he replied.

"Everybody in this city's already gunning for your badge, do you have a death wish?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said with the straightest face imaginable.

"You know I'm going to have to report this," Sharon said, "I'm going to have to have one of the security guards watch you until somebody comes down, somebody from _your_ district."

"Mm-hmm," he grunted dismissively, "Do what you have to."

Defeated, Sharon left the room and a minute later a guard in a security uniform stepped in and planted himself by the door.

"How's it going?" Hank asked nonchalantly, paying no mind to the death glare he received back from the man.

Hank sat in the chair by Olivia's bed and continued to hold her hand, waiting for any sign she would wake up. There were none. Half an hour later, Voight looked up and saw a familiar face trying to get in around the security guard.

"Burgess," he said as he stood up.

Kim entered the room and looked surprised, "Sergeant, I didn't know you were here. We got a report to come down and pick up somebody trying to kill a couple of the patients here." It took her a minute to put two and two together and she got a confused look on her face, "Sergeant?"

"There seems to be a misunderstanding around here," Voight told her, "I go to the can for a couple minutes, I come back and suddenly I'm Captain Hook."

Burgess was at a total loss and it showed. "What should I do, Sergeant? Do I seriously…"

"The cuffs won't be necessary, let's go," Voight told her as he walked past the security guard and out of the room.

* * *

"I would like to know why every time I get a headache it has to come out of your district, Voight," Emma Crowley told him back at the station house, "What the hell were you thinking?"

Voight sat across from her in his office, and very calmly and nonchalantly answered, "I was thinking it would be a good idea if I made a trip to the men's room before janitorial services were requested."

"Damn you, Hank," she said to him, "Every time you or somebody in your house crosses the line, you always cover it up. Why can't you level with me?"

"About what?" Hank asked.

"Why did you do it?" she asked him.

"Why did I do what?" he asked innocently.

"You realize this is futile, Hank," Crowley told him, "We're going to prove you did it."

"Did what?"

"You know damn well what, who else would resort to cutting somebody's oxygen tube open to try and kill them?"

"Whoever does, you know I never have, it's not mine either," Hank responded.

"Hank, I am trying to help you," she said.

"What you are trying to do, Sergeant, is get me to confess to something I didn't do. Allowing myself to be framed for something that somebody else did, _if_ anybody else did it, is not helpful to me or my people whatsoever," Voight explained to her, "Let's hypothetically assume for a moment that you're right, I did what they think I did. What's my motive? What reason would I have for doing it?"

Defeat was starting to show in Crowley's face as she shook her head, "I don't know, Hank, that's the only reason you're not already behind bars."

"So nice to be stereotyped," he remarked, "I guess if I don't watch myself, next you're going to try blaming me for the St. Valentine's Day Massacre."

"Don't tempt me," she told him, "Hank, everybody in the department can understand what you're going through…"

"No," just one word, and it said everything. Voight shook his head and told her, "You don't understand, nobody does, nobody will, and nobody else has to. That's very convenient, but I also wouldn't wish it on anybody else."

It was starting to dawn on the sergeant that there wasn't anything else to say, and that Voight was not in any position to confess to anything today.

"You know I'll be in touch," she told him, more a warning than a comment, "You know the routine, don't leave town."

Hank waited until she left his office and the door closed behind her to ask, "Where would I go?"

Reaching over to the intercom, he buzzed down to the front desk.

" _Yeah, Hank?"_ Trudy asked.

"Let me know when Sergeant Crowley leaves," Voight told her.

" _Sure thing, Hank."_

After she was gone, he was going to go back to Chicago Med and see how Olivia was doing.

* * *

"Any change?" Hank asked as soon as he was through the doors to the hospital.

Sharon did a double take, "How'd you get out?"

"Chewed through the wall," he answered nonchalantly, "Any change?"

"No," Sharon answered, then followed after him when he headed back to Olivia's room, "Hank!"

"I'm staying, Sharon," Voight told her, "Get used to it."

"Hank, you shouldn't even _be_ here after what happened earlier," she reminded him.

"Call a cop," he responded as he made his way down the corridor.

Sharon was right. Olivia's condition hadn't changed any by the time he returned to her room. He hated seeing her like this. The machines were doing everything for her. She didn't even look human in that bed. It took him back to too many deaths before, Justin, Camille. It occurred to Hank that the room was starting to spin, he grabbed the railing of the hospital bed to brace himself and he hovered over Olivia.

"Can't you just open your eyes?" he asked her.

If she could've just done that, Voight felt he would have some idea if there was hope.

Hank lowered his head till his almost touched Olivia's, and he said lowly into her ear, "You can't do this, Olivia. You _can't_ do this to me. I've already lost everyone else I cared about, I can't lose you too."

There was only silence except for the machines.

"Olivia," the word was barely audible. Voight placed one hand on the top of her head and stroked through her hair, watching, looking for any sign of change. None.

"Olivia, I love you."

The words were so quiet, the only person who could've heard them was Olivia, but if she did, there was no response.

* * *

The first thing Olivia was aware of was pain. She wasn't even sure what it was that was hurting, she was just aware of a dull pain somewhere in her body. She tried to turn her head from side to side but even that was about impossible. Then it dawned on Olivia that her eyes were closed, she slowly opened them and her surroundings slowly came into focus. She'd been in enough hospital rooms to recognize one when she saw it. Then it slowly dawned on her that she was in the hospital bed. _She_ was the patient. How had she ended up here?

She saw the needles sticking out of her arm and traced the tubes back to the IV bags overhead. Then she realized that one of them was a morphine drip, no wonder she was only in a dull pain. And yet…she still couldn't remember what had happened.

Olivia's neck was stiff and hurt to move, even so she tried turning her head to the other side, and when she did she saw Hank Voight asleep in the chair next to her bed. What the hell was going on? How long had he been there? For that matter, how long had _she_ been there?

She opened her mouth and tried to call to Hank, but her throat was as dry as sandpaper and she could hardly make any sound. So instead she reached over with her hand, grabbed his and gave it a firm squeeze.

Voight's head jerked and he sat up straight in the chair and opened his eyes. He looked as surprised as she felt.

"Olivia."

Olivia swallowed the dry lump in her throat and tried again. Her voice came out weaker than usual, but she could be heard. "Hank, what happened?"

"You've been in the hospital for two days, Olivia," he told her.

"Two days?"

It couldn't be possible. And yet…she remembered, the shooting, the car chase, the crash. Olivia's upper body shot up from the bed and she was almost hyperventilating, "The kid that got shot, is he?"

"I'm sorry," Hank told her with a grim shake of his head.

All the stuff that Olivia had witnessed on the job couldn't prepare her for his answer, and it showed in the mask of horror on her face.

"You can't blame yourself for what happened, Olivia," Hank told her, "There wasn't anything you could do."

"I should've stayed with him," she said, "I should've stayed with him until the ambulance arrived…"

"Olivia, it wouldn't have done any good," Hank pointed out, "Now, because of what you _did_ do, the shooters didn't get away, they won't be able to do it to anybody else."

"What do you mean?"

"You don't remember?" Voight asked her, "They tried to run you off the road and got hit by a truck instead."

"My God," Olivia's voice fell to a whisper.

"They survived, they were brought here," Voight told her, and added, "They coded."

"They're dead?"

"Not yet, they're on life support," Voight answered, "It's a game of wait and see right now."

Olivia bit her bottom lip and squeezed her eyes shut.

"Don't blame yourself for what happened," Hank told her, forcing her to look at him, "You wouldn't even have been out there if…"

"Olivia Benson," Sharon entered the room, "It's good to see you're awake. I'm Sharon Goodwin. You gave everybody here quite a scare."

Olivia eyed the drugs hooked up to her arm and asked, "How long have I been on morphine?"

"Only this morning," Sharon told her, "Before that you weren't responsive to anything, so we took the pain as a good sign."

"Take it out," Olivia said as she tried to sit up, "I don't want it."

"Easy," Voight stopped her.

"Miss Benson, you're going to have to take it easy, you were in a serious car accident," Sharon told her, "It's lucky you only escaped with the injuries you did. We're going to keep you over the weekend for observation."

"Fine," Olivia replied, "But I don't want the drugs."

"You might change your mind," Sharon said, "You were pretty banged up in the wreck."

"I don't care, I don't want it," Olivia told her.

Sharon could see she wasn't going to get anywhere, "Alright, I'll send somebody in to take care of it."

After she left the room, Voight told Olivia, "I know you're not accustomed to it, but in a hospital you don't _have_ to be on top of everything. These people know what they're doing. You _could_ just let them do their job and relax, you know."

"I don't like not being in control of myself," Olivia explained.

"So says the woman who just flew 1,000 miles out of her jurisdiction and left her fate to an unknown pilot of a 300 ton jet," Voight pointed out, "Do you also go on roller coasters?"

Olivia managed a pained laugh, "I _live_ on one."

* * *

Once the morphine wore off, Olivia started to feel the pain. This time it wasn't a dull pain somewhere vague in her body, it was a throbbing, excruciating pain throughout her whole body. But she refused to go back on the painkillers, so Maggie was sent in to help.

"Alright, Olivia," she said as she opened up a small package, "These analgesic pads are too strong to wear more than one at a time ordinarily, so you tell me where the worst pain is and we'll start there."

Olivia groaned as she turned over, "The middle of my back feels like somebody tried to break it."

"Hank, you want to leave the room?" Maggie asked in a way that let him know she wasn't asking.

"No thanks, I'm fine," Voight answered as he stood over by the wall.

Maggie shot him a knowing look. Then she pulled Olivia's gown open and applied the patch.

"Give it a couple minutes and you'll feel like somebody set you on fire," she told the sergeant.

"Now I just need one the size of a quilt," Olivia commented half to herself.

"And in a little bit we're going to get you up and walking so you don't get blood clots," Maggie told her.

"I can do that," Hank told Maggie.

She looked at him and smirked, "I'm sure you can but we'll handle it."

"It's alright," Olivia told her, "It's okay."

"I'll get you some scrubs you can change into," Maggie said, and glared at Voight.

"Oh darn," he replied.

* * *

"So how're you feeling?" Voight asked as he supported Olivia as she walked through the corridor.

"Only hurts when I breathe," she said in a quick huff.

"You scared the hell out of me, you know that?" he asked her.

"I wasn't _trying_ to," she replied.

"Do me a favor, don't ever _try_ ," he responded, "I don't want to see what you can do _intentionally_."

Olivia got out a pained laugh and told him, "Don't make me laugh, it still hurts too much."

"Olivia Benson," Will Halstead rounded the corner, stuck his chart under his arm and extended his hand, "My name is Will Halstead and I'm your doctor. How are you feeling?"

"You don't want to know," she answered grudgingly.

"Well your tests are looking good," he told her, "We want to keep you for observation for a couple days but if all goes well we should be able to release you then, though I would like you to check back in next week for a follow up."

"I have to get back to New York," Olivia said.

"Well I wouldn't recommend traveling, especially that far, until we can medically clear you," Will told her.

"It's alright, she'll be here," Voight told the doctor.

Both Will and Olivia turned and looked at Voight, who only looked to Olivia and answered, "She'll stay with me until then."


	3. Chapter 3

"Damn, Liv," Fin said as he looked at her on the screen, "You look terrible."

"Oh, thanks a lot," she replied from where she sat on her hospital bed.

"What's the other guy look like?" he asked.

"There were two of them," Olivia answered as she looked at her phone, "And they look like they got hit by a semi."

Carisi came on the screen now and stood beside Fin, "How long ya gonna be out, Sarge?"

"The doctor's discharging me tomorrow, he wants me to come back in a week, so it looks like I'm stuck here until then."

Olivia was able to see Rollins trying to get between the others to come up on the screen, "No sweat, Olivia, we'll keep the place from burning down in your absence."

"Wow, thanks a lot," Olivia replied, "Actually I already explained my situation to 1PP and they're going to send somebody over to act as my temporary replacement until I get back. So you know the routine, treat them with respect, but don't tell them anything."

"Sounds like my marriage," Fin commented.

"You just get to feeling better, Sarge, we'll hold down the fort and make sure this new guy doesn't get too comfortable," Carisi told her.

"Thanks, guys, I really appreciate it," Olivia said, then disconnected the call.

Olivia looked up from her phone and over at Voight, who had moved his chair over towards the door.

"How're you feeling?" he asked.

Olivia tucked her feet under her on the bed, "The last time I was in a car wreck, I was with my partner's pregnant wife, she went into labor, I had to hook her up to an IV while the top of her car was torn off. She had the baby right after we got her in the ambulance, I was one of the first people to hold his son…I think I'd rather go through _that_ again."

Voight laughed. Olivia added, "I'd rather see a new kid come into the world than have to see an older one taken out of it."

"You can't beat yourself up over that," Hank told her. Then he grew somber and added, "I shouldn't have sent you away."

"You didn't," she responded.

"Just as well might've," he replied, "I know that you came out here to try and help me, I appreciate it, I just didn't want to deal with it. See, I'm like you." He had her attention now and he explained to her, "It's not often that I'm not in control of my emotions, but the few times I'm not, I don't let anybody see it. You did."

Olivia didn't respond. She wasn't sure how to.

* * *

"You might be relieved to know I cleaned the place up a bit," Hank told Olivia as they walked up to the porch and he took out his key, "I wanted to make sure the place was presentable for my guest."

Olivia laughed and followed him in. Right away she noticed that he was telling the truth. The broken glass that had covered the floor was gone and new lights hung from the fixtures.

"Thanks for letting me stay here," she said as she took off her jacket, "I don't know why that doctor wants me to come back in, I feel fine."

"Famous last words," Voight replied, "That's what everybody says right before they collapse from some unforeseen dilemma. Besides you've still got a ways to go before you _look_ fine." He caught the look she shot at him and added, "You know what I mean."

There was an awkward silence between them for a moment. Olivia sat down on the couch and asked, "So what happens to the shooters now?"

"Hard to say, they're still on life support," Voight answered, "They still could go either way. If they don't die, then they're going to prison."

"Voight," Olivia looked at him, "Did you really cut their oxygen tubing?"

"Who, me?" he asked with a look of innocence, "What would ever give you an idea like that?"

Olivia just smiled and shook her head.

"What's going to happen with you?" she asked.

"Nothing's gonna happen to me, because I didn't do anything," he told her.

"If you say so," Olivia responded, not really sounding convinced.

"So," Voight sat down beside her, "You want to go out for dinner?"

"What if we just stay in?" she asked.

"You never had my cooking, did you?" Voight asked, "You might be sorry."

"After the week I've had, I can think of worse things to risk," Olivia told him.

This time the drink of choice was a simple bottle of wine, and the occasion for it was also different. This time instead of being used to blot out unwanted memories, it was an intimate social drink between two friends looking to put a long and exhaustive day behind them and just relax. They each had a couple of drinks, then Olivia poured another one for herself, and another after that.

"Now I know why you didn't want to be kept on the painkillers," Voight joked.

Olivia responded by playfully punching him in the arm.

"My mother was a violent alcoholic," she said, half to herself, "I should know better."

"Ever black out?" Voight asked.

Olivia thought back to her younger days, "Not for a long time."

"You ever get violent?" he asked her.

"No," she answered, then thought about it, "Not yet."

"Would've happened by now, knowing better but still doing the same thing is what makes us human," Voight told her.

She smiled at him, "Speaking from experience?"

"You don't want to know," he answered.

Olivia let the question rest and didn't push it.

"Thanks again for letting me stay," she said, "If I have to be here for another week I'd rather be here than a hotel."

"I'm glad for the company," Voight told her, "I don't always do well left to my own devices."

"I noticed," she replied.

They made small talk for a while and Olivia started to feel the effects of the wine. Again, not enough to actually get drunk on, but she could feel her head starting to swim and she was getting tired.

* * *

"Olivia."

She opened her eyes and shot up on the couch and realized she'd actually fallen asleep, or started to anyway.

"I'm sorry, what'd you say?" she asked Voight, who was seated on the other end of the couch from her.

"When I told you to leave," he said, "There were a lot of things that I was hoping to avoid dealing with, and I thought that'd be easier to do if I sent you away."

"It wasn't your fault," she told him, "I chose to leave."

"Let's be real, Olivia, what choice did I give you?" he asked her, "I knew that you'd come out here to try and help me, and I appreciate it, but at the time I didn't want to deal with it, I didn't want you here. I didn't want…" he wasn't able to finish the thought but Olivia knew what he was trying to say. He didn't want her to see him as he was.

"There were a _lot_ of things I didn't want to deal with, I thought it'd be easier to block it all out if you weren't here. I was wrong."

Olivia felt a massive weight pressing on her as she addressed the elephant in the room, "Justin…"

She expected some confirmation from Voight, he didn't even nod his head, instead he responded, "There's more."

She looked at him, she felt her eyes widen in surprise, "What is it?"

"Something I was hoping I'd never have to explain," he told her, "And I'd still rather take it to my grave, but I don't see that being an option anymore."

"What?" Olivia asked.

She didn't see Voight get up, or even move, but the next thing she was aware of was he was on top of her and kissed her.

Her reflexes were slightly slowed by the alcohol, but suddenly her mind was as sharp as a tack. She tried to grab Voight and push him off of her, with no success.

This was not the same frenzied action that Olivia had experienced a few days ago, of a man half awake and torn out of a nightmare, before he even realized what he was doing. Instead this was the calm, calculative action of a man who knew _exactly_ what he was doing, and did it very well. None of which though, could take Olivia's mind off the facts at hand. She tried again to push Hank off of her, finally he pulled away and moved back. He hovered over her now but he didn't pin her down.

Voight looked her in the eyes as he told her plainly, "I love you, Olivia."

Olivia felt her eyes widen again as she tried to sit up, "What?"

Ignoring her question he continued, "I'm not sure when it first happened, but it finally dawned on me when you came out here, then I realized I'd actually felt the same way for a while."

Olivia looked at him, "And that's what you would've rather taken to your grave than confess?"

"Well that's not all there is to it," he told her, "And the next part will be the worst to get out in the open."

"What's that?" she asked.

"Well for one thing, I never bothered to consider if you felt the same way, one-sided romances are the worst," he said, "I just couldn't think of a good way, or time, to ask."

Olivia laughed and answered, "Yes, Hank, I love you too."

"Well that was painless enough, but now comes the rest of it," Voight told her.

The tone of his voice told Olivia that this was a very serious situation, and she knew whatever he told he next had to be treated with utmost professionalism, no matter what it was.

"I'm sorry," he told her, and before Olivia could wonder for what, he confessed to her, "I love you, Olivia. Probably more than you'll ever be able to realize. But I don't see this working out." He raised his hand to get her attention, he wanted to make sure she understood, "The reason why isn't anything to do with you, it's not your fault, it's mine. I love you, Olivia, but I _can't_ sleep with you. I haven't been with any woman since Camille, even now it would feel like I was being unfaithful to her. Even if I thought I _could_ live with the guilt anyway, I _wouldn't_ be able to do it. Do you understand?"

Olivia thought back to the first morning, and nodded, "I think so."

He looked at her determinedly and told her, "If that won't be enough, then we need to just leave this where it is and forget about it."

Olivia reached up, put her arms around Voight and pulled him against her, "It's enough, Hank…it's enough."

After a while, Olivia and Voight relocated from his living room to his bedroom to go to sleep. It had been a long, hard, and trying week for both of them, and they were exhausted. But sleep wasn't in the near future for them. In the darkness of the room, Voight talked to Olivia about several things, and she didn't dare interrupt him.

"When Justin was born he was a preemie, two weeks early, only weighed 6 pounds, 5 ounces, smallest baby we'd ever seen," he told her, "We were worried he'd have to stay in the hospital. But after two days we got to take him home, Nothing slowed him down. He was already starting to talk at 7 months, he walked at 8 months, he ran us ragged keeping up with him."

Olivia just smiled and didn't say anything, and listened to Voight talk. He was a completely different man now to the one she saw the last time she was at his house.

* * *

The next morning Olivia accompanied Hank out to the cemetery to visit Justin's grave. She'd insisted on stopping first to pick up some flowers, she held two bouquets, one from each of them, and let Voight arrange them as he saw fit. She stood back and watched as Voight crouched down and spoke to his son. It _wasn't_ talking to Justin as if he was actually there, Olivia knew there was always something different in the two, but it was close enough. She also noticed how Voight tried to sound like everything was just fine, like he had everything held together. Never a word about Olive leaving with the baby. It only made sense, people were most prone to only mentioning the 'good' things when visiting with the deceased. Olivia wondered if it actually made any difference.

Then Voight did something that took Olivia completely by surprised. He introduced her to Justin. She felt compelled to step forward and speak, though she had no idea what to say. She crouched down alongside Hank and looked at the tombstone.

"Hello, Justin," she began, "I'm a friend of your dad's. He's told me a lot about you."

Somehow the words came to her and she found it easier to speak. She remembered going to her mother's grave once and speaking with her, even with her mother dead and buried it hadn't gone over much better than the conversations they typically had while she was alive. That wasn't the case here. Olivia really felt as if she was speaking to Voight's son and the words just came out naturally and smoothly.

When it was all over, and they left the cemetery, Olivia couldn't explain it but she felt like an immense weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She hoped that this was a step in the right direction for both of them.

That night Olivia found herself once again in Voight's bed holding him as he sobbed over the death of his son. Hank had held it together all day after they left the cemetery, but finally it all came crashing down on him. This too was nothing like the first night she'd been there. Rather, she had a distinct feeling that this time was a therapeutic release for Voight. Piece by piece he was starting to let go of some of the pain he'd been harboring for weeks. Just holding him against her, she could almost feel a piece the size of an iceberg falling away from him. For the first time since she'd made the trip out to Chicago, Olivia had a feeling that Hank would actually be alright.

She thought back to the morning after…with every fiber of her being she hadn't wanted to leave him, but she knew she wasn't going to get anywhere either. With every step she took to the front door she knew it was a mistake but didn't have any other recourse. She hadn't planned on actually going back to the airport though, she figured she'd check into a hotel for the day and see if he called, she had hoped he would. But needless to say, things hadn't gone as planned.

As Olivia kept one arm wrapped around Voight's back and used her other hand to stroke the back of his head, she could hear him starting to wind down, maybe he was finally falling asleep. She sincerely hoped so, after the night they'd both had, they needed to get some rest.

"It's alright, Hank, it's alright," she said quietly, "It's going to be alright." She couldn't explain it, but somehow she just _knew_ it would get better now.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, Olivia waited until Voight was taking a shower to change her clothes in the bedroom. Her follow up was going to be in a couple of days, she decided she'd wait and get cleaned up then. Right now she felt like she was in a fog and was having a hard time concentrating on much of anything.

Voight exited the bathroom already dressed for the day, and he looked like he had something on his mind.

"Hey, Liv, got a minute?"

"Sure," she answered, "What is it?"

"About the other night…" he looked towards the floor for a second and shook his head, "Look, I'm not going to hold you to anything. When you're back in New York…" the words weren't coming easy for him but he made his point all the same, "It's not realistic to expect a woman in the prime of her life to give all that up."

"Hank," Olivia shook her head confusedly, "You really think I'd break up with you because we can't have sex?"

"I wouldn't blame you if you did," he answered, "Be honest, Olivia, how long do you see this lasting? Long distance relationships are hard enough to pull off as is."

"I don't care about that, Hank," she told him, "I don't care if we never sleep together."

"That's easy to say now," he pointed out, "What about a month from now? Three months? Six? A year? How far do you see a platonic romance lasting?"

Olivia was almost laughing, and she told him, "You couldn't pick a better candidate to say that to."

"What?" he asked.

"Hank," Olivia took his hand and guided him over towards the bed and had him sit down beside her, "Do you know what it's like working sex crimes?"

"Seen my share of rape victims who are also homicide victims, but exclusively, no," he answered, not sure where this was going.

"Well let me tell you," she said, "After doing it for over 15 years…it's a lot of sleepless nights…and the rest of the time, it's pretty lonely. If sex wasn't complicated before, it becomes overly complicated when you can't ever think of it the same way again after what you see on the job. You start flashing back to details from cases and that definitely kills the mood for the night. Do you have any idea when the last time I had a relationship with a man was?"

Voight just looked at her.

Olivia shook her head, "Neither do I. It's very difficult when you bring your work home, because whoever you're with…either can't stand to hear about your day, or they can't figure out why you can't just turn it off, or they get too interested in the details. We hear all this crap about rape fantasies being part of a normal sex life…it's supposed to be the women having them, but instead you find a lot of guys who think it's kinky to role play as the bastard you're trying to catch. It's easier to just be alone…and I've been alone for…a long time."

This time it was Olivia who caught Voight off guard by turning and throwing her arms around him.

"With you I'd have some stability back in my life," she told him.

Voight grunted and tried to respond in his typical deadpan tone, but Olivia could hear him smiling as he said, "Stability, what's that?"

"You know as well as I do why workplace romances are a toxic idea, but you also know why there are so many of them in law enforcement," Olivia said, "Because nobody else will understand what you're going through better than another cop. At least we have that already, and that's one of the biggest hurdles."

Voight grunted again. In that moment he thought of Camille. Not out of guilt, but of curiosity, if she had been a member of CPD as well, their relationship would've been far less complicated in terms of what he brought home at the end of the day, but he wondered how well he would've coped with her being out on the street all day chasing after the exact same kind of garbage he always did. And what would've happened if she'd been shot? Could it have been any worse than losing her to the cancer? There was no easy answer, but one thing that came to mind, at least if she'd been taken out in an act of violence, there would've been a guilty party he could track down and make them pay for it. You couldn't hold anybody accountable for cancer, it robbed you of ever having that moment of feeling you got justice for your loved ones.

Then Voight thought of Justin. No, maybe it wouldn't have been worse to lose his wife to a bullet than a terminal disease, but it sure as hell wouldn't have been any better. His throat tightened at the memory of his wife and son.

"I don't know where this is going to go, Olivia," he told her, "But I'm willing to give it a shot if you are."

Olivia gave a little smile and tightened her embrace and said, "It wouldn't be so bad if it didn't, would it? It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if we couldn't be anything more than friends, would it?"

"That's not what worries me," Hank answered, "Just as long as our friendship isn't compromised in the process."

Olivia looked at him and told him, "That's not going to happen, Hank."

"I hope not," he responded, "You're a special lady, Olivia, and I'd hate to lose you."

"That will never happen." Olivia smiled coyly and added, "And whenever I get a chance to come back to Chicago…just because we can't go to bed doesn't mean we can't go out to dinner…or stay in and have a drink."

"Hm," Voight grunted in an amused tone, "Sounds good to me."

"I do love you, Hank," she told him.

"I love you too, Olivia," he replied, "Admitting it was less painful than I thought it'd be."

Olivia giggled, then she leaned in further, and kissed him.

* * *

"Okay, Olivia, your test results look good," Will Halstead told her the next morning at Chicago Med.

"I told you I was fine to go home," Olivia responded.

"I know you did, but I like to be _sure_ of that before I clear a patient for travel," he said, "But it looks like you're good to go."

"Thank you, Doctor." Olivia thought of something else and asked, "What happened to those two men brought in last week?"

The look on Halstead's face told Olivia all that she needed to know.

"Oh. What happens now?"

"Nothing, their deaths were already ruled a result of the car crash they were in."

Olivia glanced over at Voight, who as usual remained completely unfazed by this news.

"Well, I have to check on other patients here, but I'm glad to see everything's going so well for you, Olivia, and I wish you a safe journey back to New York," Will told her.

"Thank you, Will."

"Well, now that that's over with, now what?" Voight asked Olivia as they left the examination room.

"Now I'm going to check with the airlines and see when the next flight heading back to Manhattan is," Olivia told him as they headed for the exit.

Hank looked at her and asked, "You wouldn't have any objections to staying one more night, would you?"

Olivia looked at him and answered, "None whatsoever."

* * *

The next morning Hank escorted Olivia to the airport so she could catch her flight. As it neared time for boarding, they engaged in a final hug goodbye.

"I'll call you as soon as I get back to New York," Olivia told him. Then, somberly, she added, "I wish I knew what to say, Hank…I wish I could say that things are going to be alright now."

"You know something," he said as he pulled back from her, "Somehow I get the feeling that they will be."

He saw her to the gate and once she passed it, Voight left the airport and headed back to the 21 to get back to work.

That night, Voight returned home and changed out of his jeans and blue plaid shirt and into a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants for the night. He lay on top of his bed and just gazed up at the ceiling, feeling lost in a stupor.

The last few weeks had been hell. The last week in particular had been an up and down roller coaster, he still wasn't entirely sure what to make of it all. Olivia hadn't called yet, and he knew she had to have landed hours ago. Plenty of things came to mind as to why he hadn't heard from her. Probably as soon as she landed she went right back to work and caught a new case. Maybe she went straight home and collapsed from jet lag.

His phone rang and Voight realized he'd fallen asleep for a moment. That had to be Olivia calling now. An exercise in poor judgment, he hadn't checked first to see what the number was before answering.

"Hello."

"Hank?"

Voight felt his eyes widen. It wasn't Olivia. It was Olive, his daughter-in-law.

"Olive?"

"Did I call at a bad time, Hank?"

"No, no," he sat up in his bed, "What's up? Is something the matter?"

"Hank, I want to apologize for storming out like I did, I know you deserved a better explanation than just springing it on you like that."

"It's alright, Olive, are you sure you're alright? Is Daniel alright?"

"Yeah, he's fine," she answered, "I've been thinking about what happened and I feel bad for running out when I did. I meant what I said though, I don't plan to come back to Chicago and live, it's too many memories."

"I understand," Voight said.

"But," he hadn't been expecting that. Olive told him, "I've also been thinking about it, and even though I'm not going to move back, it's not a reason why we can't come back and visit occasionally, I want my son to know his grandfather."

Hank couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"I'm touched, Olive," he said, "You don't know what that means to me."

"Well I also got to thinking," she said, "While we're here in Arizona, we could do video chats so Daniel can _see_ his grandfather, and you can see how he's growing."

"I'd love that," Hank told her.

Much to Voight's surprise and amazement, he and Olive had a civil conversation for half an hour. In the end he felt like 10 years had been taken off of his shoulders. If he could salvage his relationship with his daughter-in-law and his grandson, his _only_ blood link back to Justin…

His phone rang again. This time he remembered to look before answering.

"Olivia?"

"Hey, Hank. Sorry I didn't call earlier." He heard Olivia grunt as she added, "I just sat down for the first time since I got off the plane."

"Well I'm glad to hear from you," he told her, "How was the flight?"

"The roller coaster would've gone smoother," Olivia answered.

"Well you'll never guess who I just got off the phone with," Hank said.

"Who?"

"Olive. Sounds like I might be getting a second chance to be a grandfather."

"That's great, Hank, I'm happy for you."

"I'm thrilled too." Voight grew more somber as he commented, "Maybe I can figure out where I went wrong with Justin and make sure it doesn't happen again."

"Hank, you can't beat yourself up over that."

"Why do I get the feeling the pot's calling the kettle black?" he asked her.

He heard Olivia laugh on the other end of the line.

"Well it's good to be back in New York," she said to him, "But I already wish I was still out there with you."

"Give it time," Hank said, "Sooner or later one of us has got to come up for vacation time."

"So how are you holding up?" she asked.

"Been better, but honestly, I think I'm doing alright," he answered.

There was a pause before Olivia told him, "If there's ever anything I can do…"

"I think you already have," Voight responded, "And I appreciate it."

There was another pause, then Olivia spoke. "I love you, Hank."

He smiled and replied, "I love you too, Olivia."

"Well," Olivia sighed, "I'm exhausted after the flight, but I'll talk to you later."

"Sounds good," Voight told her, "Have a good night."

"You too."

Voight heard a click and disconnected the call on his end. He lay in his bed staring up at the ceiling for a while, taking in the events of the past few days. It all made his head spin. But one thing he was _very_ thankful for, Olivia having the presence of mind to come out to Chicago when she did, and proving to be just as stubborn as he was. She was what got him through the worst of it, now he thought he'd be able to pick up the rest of the pieces himself. Whatever was to come of their relationship, he was and would always be grateful for having Olivia Benson in his life.

The End


End file.
